


(Boys They Like) A Little Danger

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Series: How to be a Heartbreaker [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We'll get him falling for a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Boys They Like) A Little Danger

He has Imayoshi on speakerphone and a dart in his hand, aiming for the photo in the center of the board. The dart cuts across the room and embeds itself in Kiyoshi’s forehead, and Hanamiya bites back a smile. “Hear you’ve got a bet going,” says Imayoshi.

A second dart spins out of his hand too soon and catches on the very edge of the board. “Now, who might’ve let you in on that little secret?”

“I had the pleasure of Furuhashi’s company last Thursday. You know, he cares about you a lot.”

Hanamiya frowns. “Stop fucking my friends.”

The laugh in the expanse of his room is nevertheless tinny, echoing. “Such a cunning rejoinder. But I’m curious, Hana-chan. Kiyoshi’s stuck on you and it looks to me like you’ve got him, alright. What are you waiting for?”

“He’ll have farther to fall once he really commits to me.”

“So string him along. See if he follows.”

Hanamiya considers it, darts three and four arcing into the board in quick succession, pinning Kiyoshi’s right arm and sternum. Even speckled with arrows, Kiyoshi cuts an impressive figure, both hands gripping the hoop moments after a spectacular dunk. Perhaps it was time to test Kiyoshi Teppei’s dedication.

“What’s it to you, anyway?”

Imayoshi’s chuckle is always a little unnerving. “Can’t a man have a pastime without being interrogated about it? Now, take care, you may find that he’s tougher than you’d expect.”

“I am reasonably confident,” says Hanamiya, “that I can fucking handle him.”

He hangs up on Imayoshi, who’s halfway through making a joke about whether Hanamiya can ‘handle fucking him,’ and resolves not to contact Kiyoshi for the next three months.

Thoughts of Kiyoshi leak into November, flowing through his mind like icewater. When the proper period of time has elapsed, Hanamiya sifts through the records from Jutendo Hospital--owned by the Seto family--to track his visits.

He trails Kiyoshi to the hospital one afternoon, heedless of being followed. The day he chooses for this sojourn is laced with chill, a sweep of frost that scrapes against his lungs with every breath. Jaywalking across the boulevard in the wan sunlight, he flips off an approaching ambulance and steps into the enveloping warmth of the hospital reception.

When Hanamiya enters his room, Kiyoshi is turned away from the doorway, head tilted softly downward, wrapped into himself and the crass curvature of his spine, hospital blankets pooled around his knees (one bare, one wrapped) in valleys of lumpen green.

“Hey,” says Hanamiya, and all other sounds are stoppered by his mouth, by his tongue.

Kiyoshi turns to him, smiles, straightens up, but the stooped boy from before sticks to Hanamiya’s eyes like a camera flash.

“You’re here.”

His voice could carry any inflection, and Hanamiya finds himself wondering whether the note spun through it reflects a shade of hope, or merely disappointment.

“Yeah, dumbass.”

Kiyoshi pats the space on the bed next to him. Hanamiya doesn’t move. The room is small, with just enough room for them, the TV, and the tray of half-eaten food at the foot of the bed.

“You could have called,” says Kiyoshi, and rather than an accusation, the lightness under it bears it into the realm of good humor.

“Yes,” agrees Hanamiya, full with the knowledge that they have never exchanged numbers.

 _I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings_.

Kiyoshi all those months ago--he had wanted to.

Hanamiya walks to the edge of the bed and sits, feet settled quietly against the floor.

“So, how’s the food here,” he asks.

“Oh, everything’s great,” says Kiyoshi, beaming, “they take really good care of me.”

Hanamiya nods; spares a glance for the uneaten miso. “I wasn’t very hungry today,” Kiyoshi amends, almost apologetically.

They sit for several moments in silence, the centimeters of space between them braced with an unknowable weight. Kiyoshi’s frame bears not a trace of whatever it was that had been haunting him when Hanamiya entered the room. He sits up in the bed like he’s watching a sunset rather than the achingly white hospital walls, his legs stretched out along the sheets. Hanamiya doesn’t marvel at him, doesn’t let his gaze drift over that long-limbed body, that ever-bright face.

“What are we?”

The words slip out of him unmeasured, all the better for the sake of authenticity. Kiyoshi turns towards him, lips open in slight surprise. “What do you want us to be?”

“I’ve told you,” says Hanamiya, letting petulance creep in.

“No,” says Kiyoshi, “you confessed.”

“Exactly,” says Hanamiya, “that comes with...implications.”

“You remember my reply at the time.”

Kiyoshi reaches out, brushes back the lock of hair ever-present on Hanamiya’s face. It’s only too easy for Hanamiya to lean into the touch. “And now?” Says Hanamiya.

The laugh that spins out from Kiyoshi’s mouth startles him; Kiyoshi won’t break eye contact and Hanamiya sure as hell isn’t going to be the first to look away so they remain locked together, a boy and his reflection moving through mitosis. Kiyoshi isn’t moving, and Hanamiya wonders if he’s miscalculated, wonders why his sternum feels like it’s stretching under his skin.

Kiyoshi leans in.

The kiss unwinds between them like a slow afternoon, Kiyoshi’s hands enveloping Hanamiya’s face; sifting through his hair. Three months, dissolved into the ache of those lips on his. Kiyoshi hoists him up and onto his lap until Hanamiya is straddling him, arms around Kiyoshi’s neck and dragging his teeth down his collarbones. Hanamiya wrenches the neckline of the hospital gown to the side and feels the seams strain under his fingers.

Kiyoshi lays his hand on top of Hanamiya’s, stalling its incessant motion. “My answer is the same,” he says, tone graced with apologia.

Hanamiya slides off his lap. The ceiling fan turns in steady rotations, tousling Kiyoshi’s hair. “I want to suck you off.”

He has the distinct pleasure of catching Kiyoshi off guard, he can see it in the minute widening of his eyes, and Kiyoshi looks up at the old clock on the opposite wall and says “you have twelve minutes before the nurse comes back.”

“As if I’ll need five.”

Hanamiya pushes up the edge of the hospital gown, settling himself in front of Kiyoshi as though in anticipation of a good meal. Kiyoshi’s inner thighs are the first to be sampled. Hanamiya pinches the flesh there between his teeth, refusing Kiyoshi the salve of a kiss. He meets the answering gasp with two sets of nails that rake down his sides.

He takes Kiyoshi into his mouth, enjoying the sheen of bliss that passes over his face. Hanamiya works against his gag reflex, taking in as much as he can, and sliding spit-slicked hands along the rest. The weight and heft of him on his tongue is exhilarating. Kiyoshi winds his fingers through Hanamiya’s hair; looks at him like his whole universe is spinning into the space between Hanamiya’s lips.

Hanamiya doesn’t look away.


End file.
